The general election came sooner than anyone had anticipated. In these uncertain times the days of four- and five-year parliaments were long gone. For a while the government, its majority eroded by a series of by-election defeats, had been limping on, once again propped up by Ulster Unionists. Indeed, with each new crisis, the public was becoming accustomed to the sight of grim-faced Unionists marching up Downing Street to present a new list of demands to the beleaguered prime minister until finally ministers wearied of the whole business and pulled stumps.
The change in the editorial line of the Sun came about slowly. The tone of its reporting was notably more reasonable; gone were the accusations of treachery and betrayal which had been a regular feature of its reporting under the previous management. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, Sun readers were being weaned off Brexit and fed instead with more traditional fare, the antics of errant soap stars and Premier League footballers. Migration scares, which had long been a prominent feature of Sun news coverage, disappeared. Increasingly the paper focused on the downside of Brexit, the construction of the new Nissan plant in the Czech Republic, the queue of lorries at Dover and other British ports following the breakdown of the new customs technology, and the growing shortage of key workers in the NHS. The Sunday Times, meanwhile, ran feature articles on those it dubbed the ‘Brexit Billionaires’ who were moving their assets offshore to escape the consequences of the calamity they had helped bring about. It was, remarked Mrs Cook at a meeting of the shadow cabinet, as if someone had flicked a switch. Thompson just smiled and said nothing.
His stock, meanwhile, was rising. He was judged to have done well in the televised party leaders’ debate, which attracted viewing figures on a par with the royal wedding and the World Cup. Favourable profiles appeared in the Murdoch press and on Sky Television. His association with the late Harry Perkins was no longer the liability it had once been. On the contrary, Harry was often referred to in glowing terms. In death he had achieved the status of a national treasure, something he had signally failed to do in life. Thompson, however, was at pains to emphasise that he was his own man. He even made overtures to Brexit voters, taking care to distinguish between ordinary people and what he called the handful of Brexit zealots who had taken the British people on a ride to nowhere. They had been right, he said, to be concerned about migration. An annual population increase of 250,000 a year was unsustainable and must be addressed. A moratorium on free movement from eastern Europe would be a condition of any renegotiation with the EU. As for asylum seekers, while our door would remain open to those genuinely fleeing persecution, his government would clamp down hard on the rackets, and those who did not qualify would be returned to their countries of origin.
None of this could change the fact that Britain remained a deeply divided country. The traditional, class-based fault lines were rapidly eroding. What mattered now was where you stood on Brexit. You were either for or against. There was no middle ground. The result was that Thompson and his party polled surprisingly well in parts of the Home Counties that had not returned Labour candidates for decades while, by contrast, disaffection ran high in what were once Labour’s northern strongholds. The departure of the Sun from the field of battle had little impact on the flow of bile that dominated the digital media, and the remaining Brexit tabloids continued to generate fear and loathing. Threats of murder and rape continued to clog the inboxes and Twitter feeds of politicians, Labour and Conservative, perceived to have strayed from the one true path.
Publication of the Labour manifesto with its promise to reopen negotiations with the EU only provoked greater paroxysms of fury. ‘TRAITOR’ screamed the Brexit tabloids over a grim-looking picture of Thompson, head down as he ran the media gauntlet between his front door and his armoured Jaguar. Posters bearing his photograph and headed ‘Wanted for Treason’ began to circulate in the pubs and clubs of Brexit strongholds. He was now accompanied everywhere by not two, but four protection officers, three in a backup Range Rover. On police advice his schedule of public meetings was drastically trimmed and those attending had to pass through metal detectors. His Sheffield office was closed and relocated to a third-floor office block with telephone entry and security cameras. From all over the country came reports of candidates faced with threats and intimidation. Half a dozen arrests were made, one of them of a man who had tried to force his way into a candidate’s office carrying a machete. Brexit, remarked one commentator, had brought out the worst in the British people. ‘It seems to have given permission to every little bedsit extremist to say out loud that which he previously only dared say in the privacy of his own four walls.’
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As for Elizabeth, she was conspicuous by her absence. By mutual agreement she would remain in seclusion at her parents’ home until election night when she had magnanimously agreed to appear alongside her husband at the count.